


A Long Leash

by insainity



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anders is a drama queen, Angst, Angst and Humor, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Danarius is humanized but still a bastard, Drama, Fenris Needs a Hug, Freeform, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Prompt Fic, Slavery, Some Humor, Sorry Not Sorry, Spirits might not work this way, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5694808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insainity/pseuds/insainity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15195.html?thread=57565531#t57565531</p><p>"Danarius comes to town, but before he and Fenris have their big confrontation, another problem presents itself... Point is, there is a new quest, and Danarius is a temporary companion. Hawke and co. tag along to help, but realize pretty quickly that they're only there to chaperon. Because Fenris and Danarius actually fighting together? With complimenting fighting styles and possibly decades of rapport? They are the fucking definition of synergy."</p><p>The Plot: One day, without warning, Kirkwall is drowning in spirits and demons. As the denizens of the city quickly find themselves overwhelmed, Hawke and friends find themselves with no choice but to team up with a mysterious Tevinter mage who is able to dispel the influence of this intrusion from the Fade. While suspicious, Hawke goes along with the uneasy alliance and tries to find a way to solve this new problem. </p><p>OR: The gang has to team up with Danarius, Anders develops a crush, Fenris is about to break things, Aveline's a mother grizzly bear, Hawke's trying to mediate it all and I'm just following this plot bunny to see how deep the rabbit hole goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I saw this prompt and said to myself: "There's no way to make that work." Which of course immediately got me thinking of ways to make it work.

Spirits and demons were pouring out of the Gallows.

From across the channel they resembled a poisonous cloud billowing out from and obscuring the distant fortress in a green haze. Hawke stood on the edge of the road staring out over the water at the chaos and wondering when exactly this sort of thing had begun to feel routine to him. Varric stood beside Hawke, occasionally taking unconcerned sips from his mug of subpar ale. On Hawke's other side Anders was blinking slowly, intermittently rubbing at his eyes as if to ensure the wildly undulating mass of Fade beings wasn't just a trick of the light. The three had been sent scrambling from their card game at the Hanged Man by an unbearably loud noise that had rent the air just minutes prior.

"Well shit," said Varric conversationally as he polished off his drink in one generous swig and tossed the empty mug over his shoulder.

“And what do you suppose caused all that?” Anders asked, still staring dumbly out across the water.

“Does it matter?” Hawke replied, “I've a hunch we’ll have to go sort it out either way.”

With Hawke leading the way the three of them made their way toward the docks, impeded every step by the push of fleeing, frightened people crowding the stairwells. They had nearly reached the ferry when the vortex of spirits abruptly changed direction and rushed across the surface of the water, sweeping over Lowtown like a thick fog to a chorus of screams and panic.

Within the shining clouds of Fade beings they found themselves inundated with eldritch voices. There were far too many to make out individual words, the din filling their minds as the spirits drifted aimlessly through the streets, forlorn and lost in the waking world. Varric instantly fell to his knees on the ground, gripping the sides of his head, his eyes shut and teeth clenched in agony. A quick glance around was all that was needed to ascertain that the rest of Kirkwall’s denizens were suffering the same affliction. People were doubled over on the ground, clawing at their ears, some curled up in on themselves and rocking slightly begging for the noise to end. Hawke and Anders lasted a little bit longer, accustomed to hearing the whispers of the Fade in their sleep each night, but soon even they were becoming overwhelmed.

Hawke knelt down beside Varric, trying in vain to rouse him from his fit, "I don't suppose Justice would like to come out and tell his friends to play nice?" Hawke shouted to Anders, his voice straining in his effort to resist the malestrom.

"That's not funny!" Anders snapped in return, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

"How unfortunate. Funny's all I had left I'm afraid," Hawke retorted weakly.

As he began to succumb out of the corner of his eye Hawke saw a man emerge from a nearby alleyway, glance towards him and then raise a glowing staff. He felt the pull of magic envelope him and just like that the cacophony between his ears had ceased. Bewildered, Hawke staggered to his feet, seeing that Anders was doing the same. Varric and everyone else around them, however, seemed to have been left to their fates.

“You Southern mages certainly are crude in your methods.”

The man who had cast the spell stepped forward, the perfectly tailored hem of his ornate robes swaying elegantly about his ankles. He held himself with the arrogant airs of one of noble birth and had a retinue of armed warriors following him, of which he was clearly in charge despite that one of them bore a Templar emblem upon his black armor. Along with him was young elven woman who appeared to also be a mage.

“The Veil is thin in Emerius,” the man continued, “A pity you do not know how to use it to your advantage.”

“Thanks for the help,” Hawke said carefully, something about their rescuer not sitting well with him, “Hate to be a bother but do you think you could help our friend as well?” Hawke gestured to Varric where he was still on the ground clutching his skull.

“I suppose,” replied the man. With a small flick of his wrist a barrier alighted around Varric and the dwarf slowly crawled to his feet muttering a few select curses.

“How did you do that anyway?” Hawke asked the strange mage.

“Simply with a few helpers from the Fade. Where I come from we know how to bind spirits properly, to serve us.”

From his rich attire to his distinctive accent to the way he wielded magic freely and without any fear of reprise Anders knew exactly what this man was. He could barely mask the delight in his voice as he said, “You’re from Tevinter aren’t you?”

The man raised one silver brow, calculating grey eyes raking down and back up Anders’ body, causing the other mage to flush, “Impressive,” There was a certain tone of condescension in his voice, “How very astute.”

"Are you a slaver?” Hawke asked bluntly, eyes narrowed.

"Don't be daft, Hawke, does he look like one?" Anders complained.

The man laughed haughtily in response, waving one hand as if he were brushing the question aside, “Indeed, nothing so base. I am here on business, but it appears that must be delayed. I’ll have no luck with all of _this_ going on.” All four glanced over at the mayhem still steadily pouring from the Gallows.

“Are you a magister?” Anders asked, swallowing when the man’s gaze drifted back to him. With his slicked back grey hair and his meticulously trimmed beard the stranger strongly resembled a much more powerful, and much more confident, version of Karl. Perhaps what the man could have been were he allowed the freedom Anders knew all mages deserved.

“I am a mage of high standing, that is all you need to know”, the man replied, “And how fortunate for you that I am here and have offered to render my assistance.”

“You haven’t even told us your name,” answered Hawke, still bristling with mistrust.

The man smirked in amusement, “You may call me Tiberius. And you are the Champion of Kirkwall are you not? _Hawke,_ yes?”

Hawke nodded curtly. Being recognized wasn’t anything unusual for him, but something about the way the man--Tiberius said his name made him feel like he was being left out of some inside joke. He exchanged a glance with Varric before declaring, “While I’m sure your minions are very talented I need to find my allies so we can deal with this.”

“We should head to Hightown,” Varric opined, talking to Hawke even while his eyes were locked hard on the Tevinter mage, “See how they’re faring up there. Though I’m sure Aveline is already half way here.”

“Very well. Lead the way, Champion,” said Tiberius with a rather patronizing little bow.

Hawke marched on ahead, avoiding both spirits and people writhing in the street. Nearby a cat yowled as it violently transformed into a rage demon and slithered away through the warehouses. Hawke, feeling increasingly less than confident about their ability to deal with the disaster, was distracted from his thoughts when Anders hurried up to his side.

"If I didn't know you I'd say you were raised in the Circle the way you're behaving towards him," Anders whispered harshly.

“There’s just something about him that puts me off,” Hawke mumbled in response.

“I’m with Hawke,” Varric interjected quietly, situating himself between the two of them.

"Oh shove off the both of you,” Anders said a bit too loudly, “That’s just Chantry rhetoric. They like to paint every Tevinter mage as a storybook villain just in case we ever get the idea that mages should be free!"

"Hey my cousin's a magister, it's not just the Tevinter thing. I know bad news when I see it," Varric replied.

When Hawke and Anders both began to sputter out their incredulity Varric raised a hand to silence them, "Long story," he said, without any further elaboration.

“Let’s just get a move on,” Hawke muttered, “We can argue about it when this is over.”

 

\----

 

The storm of spirits, it turned out, was advancing faster than their group was able. As they hurried their way up the massive stairway to Hightown already the first translucent wisps were gliding past them. Varric cursed loudly as he hobbled several steps behind the group, casting a growing number of nervous glances back down at Lowtown.

“Hey, I don’t think our problem is going to stay put for long!” he shouted up to the others.

As if on cue a few of the spirits seemed to begin to materialize, oscillating between varied hints of limbs, bone and skin as if they were trying to make sense of corporeal form. What at last burst to life looked anything but friendly; spiders protected by armored shells and an indescribable creature that was all shrieks and spindly legs.

Hawke gave a pitched yelp as one of the spiders crawled up the wall beside him and it was soon sent sailing over the roofs of Lowtown with one panicked swing of the Champion’s staff. The young elven woman broke away from the group, running down the stairs as she hefted her own staff from her back, casting a dull ball of fire toward the shrieking terror that was moving up toward them five steps at a time. She unfortunately miscalculated and the demon all too easily batted the spell aside.

“Varania!”

The woman-- apparently named Varania, flinched at the scolding tone in Tiberus’ voice. Anders was soon by her side, the mages acting as a shield as Varric fled to higher ground. A brilliant blue light ebbed into Anders’ eyes as the spirit within his body began to seep through his skin. Aided by Justice’s power he twirled his staff twice in the air, bringing it down hard upon the steps and sending a blanket of lightning pouring upon the demons below. Several of the skittering spiders simply exploded, but the towering figure of limbs appeared to dive into the chiseled rock and vanish.

There was a long, uncomfortable lull in the battle, all present scanning their surroundings with weapons at the ready. All save for Tiberius, who appeared to be watching the mages with great interest. Suddenly the creature burst through the ground right in front of Hawke, uttering an ear-piercing screech. After a brief moment of flailing Hawke raised his hand and brought in down, a nearly invisible burst of Force crushing the demon against the stairs, twisting its limbs into itself with a sickening crunch. He could hear Tiberius give a soft, disapproving click of his tongue and met the man’s unimpressed gaze with a glare.

“My what a show,” Tiberius intoned, acting as if he hadn’t noticed the look Hawke had given him as he trailed down the stairs. He glanced toward Varania, sending the elf away with a derisive wave of his hand, and then turned his attention to Anders, “You appear to have some unusual abilities, my boy. What is it you are called again…?”

“Anders,” the mage in question replied.

“Anders,” Tiberius repeated, looking faintly disappointed, “You appear to have a spirit within you, but in a way I’ve only noted in Rivani seers that I’ve- ...studied.”

If Anders noticed the suspicious way the other mage had said it he gave no indication. Hawke watched them moodily from afar, staring daggers of mistrust at Tiberius’ back all the while. Chantry-bred fears or no the man certainly did come across like a storybook villain; the type of mad mage that would try anything just because he could.

“It's a spirit of Justice,” Anders explained quietly, “Our union is… _complicated._ I don't know if it was ever the wisest choice but there's no separating us now.”

“Fascinating,” Tiberius said, “And to think such a unique mage is toiling away in obscurity in the Free Marches. Have you ever considered apprenticeship?”

Anders’ eyes turned as wide as saucers, “What, in Tevinter?”

Further up the stairs Hawke and Varric waited restlessly to get a move on, both eyeing Varania as the young woman rejoined Tiberius’s guards, her own face flushed with shame and her mouth a thin line that barely hid her irritation.

“You notice Blondie’s been making eyes at that guy this entire time?”, Varric muttered to Hawke, casually shooting a few possessed crows out of the sky with Bianca as he did so.

“You cannot be serious,” Hawke replied.

“Varania is something of a charity case I’m afraid,” Tiberius said, continuing his conversation with Anders, “But I am accustomed to having many apprentices at one time. And I would not be opposed to having a man of particular _inclinations_ at hand.” The suggestive tone and accompanying wolfish smile heated Anders’ cheeks. Hawke and Varric simultaneously groaned as they sagged under the weight of the display.

“You _cannot_ be serious,” Hawke repeated

“Does he just have a thing for old guys or what?” Varric asked in an obvious stage whisper.

“I can _hear_ you two busybodies over there!” Anders shouted up to them.

“And we can hear your flirting, Blondie!” Varric shot back with a chuckle.

“Alright, I get it!” Anders said, turning red-faced as he stomped up the stairs, “You want to keep moving.”

“Do give my offer some consideration,” Tiberius called after him.

Hawke practically put Anders in a headlock as he passed, ducking their heads close together as they moved forward. “You aren’t seriously considering going to Tevinter are you?” Hawke whispered.

“And why not? We can’t all be big heroes who get to be above the rules,” Anders shot back, clearly struggling to keep his voice low. A shimmer of blue light coursed along his body and he continued with a sigh, “There's the clinic, and the mages here still need help, but, in Tevinter I could truly be free at last.”

“It’s been barely an hour and that Tevinter guy’s gotten into your head!” Hawke protested, blinking with shock as he found himself shoved back by Anders.

“Oh aren’t you one to talk,” Anders muttered, his glare undermined by what was practically a pout on his face, “We all know there’s a certain _Tevinter_ that makes _you_ take leave of your senses, Hawke.”

“Hey now,” Hawke protested, “That’s not-”

“Maybe I just like being appreciated for what I am, for once!” Anders said, throwing his hands up in the air as he turned and began making his way up the remaining flight of stairs to Hightown, tossing the last word over one shoulder, “I suppose _you_ wouldn't understand, pining after a man who hates what you are and does nothing but hurt you.”

Hawke groaned and ran one large hand over his face, he and Anders were having this exact argument more and more as of late. He felt companionable pat on his arm and looked down to find Varric with a sympathetic yet shit-eating grin on his face.

“These sorts of catastrophes always make for great drama,” the dwarf said cheerily.

“Wonderful. Just leave this part out of my biography could you?” Hawke grumbled as he hurried off after Anders. The group finally reached the top of the stairwell only to discover the spirits had begun to descend on Hightown from all sides of the peak, pouring over the walls like a cascade of mist.

“Well shit,” Hawke and Varric said in unison.

The merchants in the square had evidently tried to form a shelter with their booths, most of them wailing in the ground behind their makeshift barricade as the spirit-born fit overtook them. The surrounding homes were marked by desperate efforts to stem the tide of spirits, with boards and furniture covering windows. There were no immediate signs of what had happened to the residents within.

A flock of shades drifted down the stairwell leading to the Merchant’s Guild, sliding across the the stone like waterbugs. The warriors guarding Tiberius hurried forward, dutifully laying their blades into the demons while the mage stood back exuding a detached sort of air. The other three mages, however, were quick to join the fray, branching out to opposite ends of the market. Hawke braced his feet to the ground, calling up the chiseled rock beneath them and forming it into a massive fist that pummeled two of the advancing creatures. Varric fell in by his side with Bianca in hand, the two easily falling into their usual mid-battle banter like a couple of corny swashbuckling heroes from one of Varric’s serials.

Anders in the meantime weaved through the carnage, attempting to lend his healing abilities to the Tevinter warriors. They weren't lasting long against the demons even with the aid of their leader’s spell and Tiberius appeared largely unconcerned for their well-being. Naturally drawn to the energy of a mage Anders soon found he’d gained the undivided attention of several shades and was driven back up the stairs by their advance. As he stumbled into a side courtyard he quickly lost sight of the others. His trepidation at finding himself isolated and facing down a generous handful of demons must have fed into them as one abruptly grew into a towering greater shade.

“Oh, wonderful,” Anders groaned aloud.

Back on the market square the Tevinter warriors continued the struggle against their eldritch opposition but were all too soon dispatched without the presence of a healer. Only the man in Templar armor remained of the small group and Tiberius held out his arm to stop him from throwing his life away as well. The mage strode forward instead, casually stepping over the bodies of his fallen guards whilst taking his staff in hand, “Well, there are times one must turn and face the tiger.”

Hawke tilted his head in Tiberius’ direction much like a puzzled mabari. It had been nagging at him the more time he spent in the man’s presence; there was something so strangely familiar about the way he spoke but Hawke couldn't place it. His mind abruptly ceased its search when Tiberius began to draw the blood from the slain into the surrounding air with an elegant pivot of his staff. The remaining shades descended on him, all black smoke and razor claws as they poised for the attack. Dark energy began to crackle through the blood as he weaved it into his casting. The spell burst out through the shades which all at once slumped forward and were still.

“They are in my thrall now,” Tiberius explained, sounding rather pleased with himself, “Simple creatures, but they will be useful as we move forward.”

“Blood magic,” Hawke intoned, his voice turning deep and hard, “How unsurprising.”

“I cannot imagine what it is that convinces southern mages to hinder themselves so. All magic has its uses. Blood magic may well have just saved your life, Champion.”

“And what about the lives of your warriors?” Hawke replied angrily.

A decidedly unkind smirk lifted the corner of Tiberius’ lips, “They knew their duty,” was all he said before turning and gesturing for Hawke and Varric to follow, the shades melting into the ground in his wake.

 

Anders was still alone in the courtyard, he had managed to take down a couple of the shades and was searching for a way to escape the clutches of the rest. In the scuffle he faintly heard the tap of mortal footfalls and found himself back to back with another mage; the presence far too small to be Hawke. Glancing over his shoulder he was met with the sight of Varania staring back at him, a look of contempt darkening her features. He idly wondered if all Tevinter elves were just scowly by nature.

“I can see what you’re trying to do,” Varania hissed, conjuring up just enough ice to freeze a nearby shade in place.

“Beg pardon?”

They switched positions, fending off the shades from either side, “You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed to get here,” she continued, drawing a bolt or two of lightning down on their opponents.

“Andraste’s knickerweasels, are you really trying to have a conversation right now!?” Anders shouted in audible disbelief, driving the bladed end of his staff into one of the ghoulish entities before setting it alight. They pushed back against each other once again, turning slowly to assess any nascent enemies that might have materialized from the ether around them.

“It is the only time I will be able away from _his_ ears,” she responded.

Both mages turned wide-eyed in alarm when the greater shade began to tremble, molten light pouring through its form as it transformed into a rage demon. They began to cast in tandem, Anders drawing out a glyph of paralysis beneath the creature while Varania mustered her energy into frost.

“Is this about him offering me an apprenticeship?” Anders asked blithely as he watched the smoldering remains of the demon drop to the ground in viscous clumps.

“It is _precisely_ ,” Varania responded, funneling the momentum from her last casting into a hard swing of her staff as she whirled toward him, “And I will not lose my chance just because some _puer delicatus_ caught his eye!”

He met her staff with his own, the two mages now engaged in a power struggle as they pushed against each other’s parries. From her deeply sarcastic tone of voice it was evident that she had insulted him, but since he wasn’t terribly well versed in Tevene he couldn't be sure _how_. So he only stared gormlessly and said, “What?”

Fearsome green eyes bore into him, her staff giving a few sparks and her arms trembling with her effort, “How unfortunate it would be if you were to die in battle.”

Anders smirked brazenly in response, “You aren’t powerful enough.”

She breathed a frustrated sigh and abruptly ended their standstill, pulling away from him and hurrying toward the road to find the rest of the group. 

“We don’t have to be rivals, you know!” Anders called after her, throwing his arms out in a gesture of appeasement.

She slowed to a stop and turned, casting him a weary look, “If that’s your way of thinking they would eat you alive in Tevinter.” And with that she rounded the corner and was out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

It was several minutes more before Anders and Varania were able to regroup with the others amidst the chaos, the swells of spirits continuing to obscure the city like a blanket of early morning fog. With Hawke again in the lead they all pushed their way toward the Viscount’s Keep, fending off demons with both their weapons and Tiberius’ conscripted shades. The streets leading to the Keep were littered with Kirkwall guards, either dead in the fighting or writhing on hard ground, clawing at their skulls in an effort to silence the ethereal riot.

Their small group came across Aveline just at the foot of the imposing steps with Fenris by her side, numerous slain demons laid scattered around them in various bits and pieces. Aveline was evidently succumbing to the raging voices in her mind the same as everyone else in the city, the blade of her sword wedged into the flagstones as she leaned on the weapon like a crutch. Fenris had discarded his own massive blade, his arms secured around the stalwart Guard-Captain, helping her to remain standing. Other than the darkly concerned expression on his face Fenris appeared unaffected by everything that was happening, perhaps shielded from the spirits' intrusion by the lyrium in his skin.

“Fenris! Aveline!” Hawke called as he hurried toward them.

Evidently sensing that they were allies of the Champion, Tiberius lazily waved his hand and cast his barrier upon Aveline, who fell against Fenris lax with relief. "Oh thank the Maker," she groaned, glancing up at the approaching group. Fenris followed her gaze and all at once the color drained from his face. His eyes turned wide and glassy, and for a moment it was if his mind had retreated elsewhere. Aveline pulled away when she felt him tense, reaching out and gently placing a hand on his shoulder as she asked him what was wrong.

“Well, well,” Tiberius said, eyeing the stunned elf with a smirk.

"Yes as you can see we have another mage," Anders remarked, turning to Fenris with a roll of his eyes, "Don't go crazy just because he's from Tevinter. Fenris, this is-"

A feral scream of rage tore from the elf, he lit up both arms and launched himself at Tiberius before anyone could make a move to stop him. The Tevinter mage waved his hand with an exasperated sigh, erecting a magical barrier which Fenris crashed hard against and toppled to the ground.

“Now, Fenris, I know you must be upset but that is no way to behave," the magister scolded, addressing the hardened warrior as if he were a particularly dimwitted child.

“What in blazes is wrong with you now?” Anders groused. He was summarily ignored when Fenris pushed off the ground with a snarl and leapt back onto his feet, swiping up at Tiberius with one incandescent clawed hand. Tiberius melted into the air and reappeared on the elf's side, bringing his crackling staff down on the back of Fenris' head before shoving him away. Hawke caught Fenris under his arms to prevent him from falling to the ground again, struggling to hold him back when he threatened to pounce a third time.

"Unhand me, Hawke!"

Hawke instead kept a tight grip on the thrashing elf, “No more murder frenzy until you tell us what’s going on here!”

“He needs to die!” Fenris shouted.

“Hating mages and your homeland is no excuse to act like a wild dog,” Anders chimed in, glowering at his rival. Secretly he had enjoyed Tiberius’ display of power, seeing Fenris put in his place was just a bonus.

"So, you know this guy, elf?" Varric asked as diplomatically as possible to keep things from escalating any further.

Fenris abruptly went limp in Hawke's arms, glaring heatedly at the Tevinter mage. After a moment’s hesitation and several labored breaths he ground out a single name through his clenched teeth, "Danarius."

"What!?"

Hawke nearly let Fenris loose as he gaped disbelievingly at the man before him, quickly grabbing the elf when he tried to lunge yet again. Certainly he had suspected that the man was a magister and could tell he was a bit of a prick and there was definitely something unsettling about him but for him to be Danarius? The monster that had hunted Fenris for nearly a decade, burned lyrium into his skin, had keep him on a leash like a pet and named him after an animal. The monster that Fenris spoke of with such unbridled hatred covering a quiet hint of fear. It was unreal to have the monster standing before them looking and acting so… _human_.

“Ah yes,” said the man in question, “I forwent the usual formalities when first I introduced myself. I am Tiberius of _House_ Danarius, Magister of the Imperial senate." Aveline's eyes narrowed dangerously as Tiberius-- no, _Danarius_ , gave a patronizing nod of his head.

“This is your master!?" Anders blurted out before Hawke had a chance to remember how to form words.

“ _Former._ Master,” Fenris spat in return.

Danarius fixed the elf with a stern glare and Hawke was horrified to feel Fenris shrink back against him. The magister’s face then appeared to soften, but his eyes remained as unrelenting cold steel when he spoke, "Poor thing, I should have come myself ages ago. He's been slaughtering any I’ve sent to retrieve him just to get my attention."

“Only to draw you out and kill you, Danarius! I am not a slave!” Fenris roared furiously.

“That’s right!” Hawke added, finally able to speak, "Fenris is a free man!"

Danarius raised a brow at where Hawke's large arms were restraining the allegedly free elf, "Oh? Is he now?"

When the implication dawned on him Hawke quickly let go of Fenris, who thankfully refrained from immediately attacking Danarius again. Aveline, however, was now brandishing her sword in the magister’s direction, “You have no claim on him,” she said with a clear ring of authority, “Slavery is illegal in the Free Marches.”

Danarius turned an unimpressed sneer on her, “I have every _claim_ to him. He is not only my property, I have made my pet into everything he is. And I will remind you, madam, that my magic is the only thing keeping you upright at the moment, so it would be in your best interest to lower your blade.”

With a fierce scowl Aveline reluctantly sheathed her sword, striding purposefully over to join Hawke and Fenris. She situated herself slightly in front of Fenris, keeping her hard, disapproving stare locked on Danarius all the while. Privately Hawke mused that she gave the impression of an angry mother grizzly bear.

Preceding with a click of his tongue Danarius spoke again, “You weren’t always like this. Since when are you so contentious, Fenris?”

“Since the moment we met him,” Anders drawled loudly, earning an elbow to his kidney from Varric.

“Curious,” Danarius replied, “It seems without a firm guiding hand my little wolf will just snap at anyone.”

“Shut your mouth, Danarius!”

“There. You see?” the magister said with a put upon sigh.

Varania stood off to the side, ramrod straight, still save for her trembling hands clutching her staff. She stared unblinkingly at Fenris throughout the exchange, appearing at once fascinated and scared. When she finally caught the seething wolf’s eye he snapped at her, “ _What?_ ”

Varania’s expression soured with indignation and she whipped her head around to pointedly cast her gaze elsewhere. Visibly agitated Fenris stormed off several yards from the group, pacing the road near Hawke’s estate. Danarius watched him, shaking his head with a chuckle that might have seemed fond if not for its cold and hollow quality, and then sauntered off after the elf.

With a hiss and a clench of his teeth Hawke followed. “Maker’s balls what a mess,” Varric muttered, hurrying at Hawke’s heels. The others shifted awkwardly in their trepidation, each slowly approaching the tense scene as it unfolded.

“Hey, hold on a moment!” Hawke shouted.

Ignoring the Champion Danarius addressed the furiously pacing elf instead, “Fenris, you’re being ridiculous. Ever since you ran off on Seheron you’ve been lost and confused. It is time to end this tantrum of yours and come home”.

The elf halted abruptly, whirling toward the magister with a withering glare and spitting on the ground at his feet in that distinctly Tevinter manner, “Home!?” He spat, “You think I consider kneeling at your feet home!? I never wanted your chains _or_ these filthy markings!”

Another chuckle, derisive and without empathy, “Oh how little you know, my pet.”

“I won’t let you kill me for them, Danarius!”

“Kill you? I have no intention of killing you.”

“I will not hear your lies,” Fenris snarled, “Your hunters told me-”

“I knew you were foolish, Fenris, but I did not think even you would be so stupid as to heed the taunting of such low-lifes,” was the magister’s reply.

“Then why are you here!? Is the lyrium really worth so much? After all these years why can you not let it go!?”

Danarius fixed him with a possessive glower, his voice dark and dangerous when next he spoke, “Because you are mine.”

Without so much as a gesture the magister’s spell lifted from the others. Hawke collapsed on the road just a few feet away from where Fenris stood, the rush of the spirits’ voices hitting him all at once. The rest similarly collapsed to the ground with a chorus of pained cries and all at once Fenris found himself utterly alone with his chief tormentor. Even the mists around them had seemed to have taken on a sickly quality, blackened around the edges and billowing like smoke.

Danarius strode to him, gripping Fenris’ chin roughly and pulling him forward until they were nose to nose, “There is not a single moment you have ceased to be mine,” the magister breathed harshly, “Do not forget it, my pet.” Danarius was so close, close enough for Fenris to plunge a hand into his chest and end him there. But his entire body was stone, the sickeningly familiar smell of Danarius’ breath, the feel of those hands he wished he didn’t know so well against his skin, kept him frozen in place. And worst of all the others, his friends, _Hawke_ needed this vile man in order to survive the peril.

Hawke twisted on the ground as he struggled to look up at them. Through the haze of spirits and his pain alike he could see where Danarius had his gnarled fingers locked on Fenris’ chin. He could see the incongruous look of terror in Fenris’ eyes, but he couldn’t hear what was being said over the din in his mind. As if he could sense Hawke’s gaze upon him Fenris’ head turned a fraction and his wide green eyes moved toward where he lay. Something in the elf seemed to calm, the set of his jaw becoming hard, more determined. Danarius followed his gaze, his countenance disdainful, regarding Hawke as if the Champion were no better than an insect crawling on the stones.

“I could simply take you now and leave this filthy little city to its doom,” Danarius suggested.

When Danarius turned back to him Fenris defiantly met the magister’s eyes with his own and said in a sardonic growl, “And I suppose your dead guards will crew the ship that takes you from here?”

An unkind smile split Danarius’ face beneath his darkened gaze. He removed his hand and made to slap Fenris only to find his wrist caught hard in the elf’s crushing grip. The two stared one another down for several heartbeats until Danarius’ smile twisted into a sadistic smirk as he said, “It will be almost a shame to douse this fire in you, pet.”

Fenris fought to contain the shudder that ran through his body, but the gleam in the old mage’s eyes told him Danarius had felt it. And just like that the spell was cast again, the others climbing to their feet as the overpowering din subsided and released their senses.

“What was that all about!?” Hawke demanded angrily, his boots clanking loudly as he staggered to his feet.

“A reminder,” Danarius drawled, “Of who is in charge here.”

As he climbed back to his feet Anders eyed the mists encroaching on their small group warily, the spirits within flowing, reforming, seemingly merging into one another, “Um--” he uttered sheepishly.

“You will never again rule me, Danarius!”

There was a rush of sound, the spirits twisting, wrapping, warping, forming a frighteningly familiar silhouette. The mists were practically static with energy as a towering shape take form and loomed over them.

“Hey-!” Anders tried again.

“Oh spare me the _drama,_ Fenris.”

With a rush of air and a monstrous laugh a massive pride demon emerged from the mist, crushing Danarius’ last remaining guard under foot. The magister made a mild sound of annoyance, the sort of utterance most would use when spilling a drop of drink on themselves. The creature then reared back and gave a roar, long whips of lightning held in its gigantic fists cracking through the air.

“Okay everyone in the house _now!_ ” Hawke shouted, practically hurling himself toward the door of the Amell estate, fumbling with his key for a few frantic seconds before wresting it open. He ushered the others inside and yanked the door closed just as the creature uttered another cackle and cracked a stream of electricity against it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This sort of became the talky chapter. Enjoy your emotional exposition everyone!

Danarius peered around the foyer of the Amell estate, his nose wrinkled and lip curled as if he had smelt something rather unpleasant. “How very quaint,” he remarked.  

“It’s _quiet,_ ” Aveline said slowly, as if the mere act of calling attention to it would bring the fury from outside down upon their heads. Given her experiences adventuring with Hawke it was a fair assessment.

“Right, no one’s rolling around on the floor screaming, that’s probably a good sign,” Hawke said as he cautiously traipsed into the main room. The estate was as cozy and as empty as usual, no sound save for the crackling of the fire and the light snoring of Hawke’s aging pet mabari.

“Huh,” Hawke continued, “But how is it nothing’s gotten in here-”

“Enchantment!”

Startled, Hawke scrambled several paces back, arm flailing toward his staff before he remembered himself. Sandal beamed happily at him from his usual work area, the glow of his apparatus casting the strange dwarf in a somewhat eerie light. “Sandal! I’ve told you not to do that! Are you alright? Is everyone else alright? You’ve seen no scary monsters coming through the walls?”

“Enchantment,” the dwarf repeated, sounding mildly irritated.

Hawke blinked before taking stock of his surroundings. Sure enough there were faint runic patterns on each wall, faintly luminous and almost invisible to the naked eye. They appeared to pulse in time to the muffled sounds from outside as if they were holding it all back. “Hold a moment, have you-” Hawke began before he was interrupted again by Orana shuffling into the room.

“Messere Hawke--” she chirped before coming to a stuttering halt, her eyes going impossibly wide at the sight of Danarius. She quickly dropped to her knees and prostrated herself before the magister.

“Master!” the girl quailed, “I’m- I’m so, so sorry! Magister Hadriana, she died and I--”

Hawke felt rooted in place as he gaped at her. Orana had made so much progress in the three years passed and to see it all unravel at once had him at a loss. Thankfully Varric stepped forward, gently taking the girl by the elbow and helping her to her feet.

“Alright now, Sweet Pea,” Varric said in that tone that made him sound like everyone’s favorite uncle, “You don’t need to worry about this. Let’s go find Bodahn and you can wait with him while we sort things out.” Orana nodded tearfully, letting Varric lead her away to the kitchens, and the dwarf cast a pointed look at Hawke before they disappeared from sight.

The others milled about the foyer in the long, uncomfortable silence that followed until Danarius finally turned to Hawke and said, “Have you just made a habit of collecting stray slaves from my household?” 

“ _Venhedis kaffan vass,”_ Fenris hissed fiercely before storming off through the main room and into the library. Hawke and Aveline exchanged a worried glance and hastened after him, Hawke’s marbari rousing from his sleeping spot by the fireplace and excitedly following.

“I don’t know _where_ he gets that from,” Danarius muttered to Anders, “He used to be so well-behaved.” To the magister’s side Varania attempted to mask her grimace and said nothing.

“He’s always cursing and going on and on about the evils of magic,” Anders remarked, unable to resist a jab at his rival.

"Oh, the lad is just upset with me. He knows not of what he speaks," Danarius replied, his tone assured and nonchalant. Ordinarily, Anders would be quick to agree with the idea of Fenris’ ignorance, but something in the magister's condescending tone whenever he spoke to the elf was starting to not sit right with him.

“How is it that he escaped from you to begin with?” Anders asked nervously, his curiosity overriding his faint unease.

“He did not _escape,_ ” Danarius grumbled, wandering over to one of the chairs by the fireplace, tracing his finger across the cushion and inspecting it for dust before deciding to sit down, “He became separated from me during a Qunari attack on the island of Seheron, where I keep a villa. It was months before I found him again and during that time he had been taken in by a group of savages. Once _that_ was dealt with something spooked him and he ran away into the jungle. I sent a number of trained professionals on his trail but by the time they found him he had already become like... _this,”_ the magister waved disdainfully toward the library for emphasis, “This idea he has in his head of freedom is not something he’s capable of comprehending. My little wolf only does what he was created to do: kill all threats.”

Anders gawked from where he hovered by the fireplace, attempting to parse everything he had just been told. Fenris was different before. Fenris hadn't actually planned and staged an escape. His comparison of the elf to a wild dog may have been more apropos than he had known, and fleetingly the thought crossed his mind that Fenris might have been better off as a slave.

He was distantly aware of Varania fleeing further into the estate, her discomfort writ clear upon her face. He could also feel Justice’s influence pressing on his mind. Most days this was easy: mages deserve freedom and people who hate mages are enemies, and Fenris fell firmly in the 'enemy' category. And here was Danarius, the picture of absolute mage freedom, saying that Fenris had been calmer and more agreeable under him. But despite the animosity he felt toward the elf even Anders would acknowledge, if only privately, that Fenris was a fiercely intelligent man. At least when he wasn't being unreasonable regarding mages and magic. And so to hear him be spoken to like child made something in Anders a bit queasy.

“I can't hold with slavery,” Anders said out loud.

“Only because you have been taught to lower yourself,” Danarius opined, “We are mages, Anders, we are naturally superior and _all_ know it. Why else would your southern Chantry fearfully lock you away?”

“Mages are powerful, yes, but that doesn't mean we can subjugate others,” Anders said hesitantly, putting up a feeble fight against the cooling of his attraction to the man.

“It is the way of the Imperium. Without my experiment Fenris would be just another wretch standing guard at an estate or working a field. The lad promised himself to me long ago, even if he forgets that. Despite his posturing to the contrary you see how freely he uses what I bestowed upon him.”

Danarius glanced up and met Anders’ pensive stare, jutting his chin out as if in a challenge, daring the other mage to tell him he was wrong. The magister then settled into a languid recline in the chair and stared into the flames that popped in the fireplace.

“Do not think me unkind,” Danarius said, “You’ve seen the amount of insubordination I’ve tolerated from him.”

 _You don’t really have the temperament for a slave_ , Anders recalled saying to Fenris once. He would have faced punishment in the Circle for far less than the back-talking Fenris was doing now and the thought rekindled his irritation toward the elf. Perhaps slavery in Tevinter _was_ something different than most in the South believed. And if Fenris couldn't give a care for the mages essentially enslaved by the Chantry, Anders certainly wouldn't pay _him_ that courtesy.

At the same time Aveline and Hawke stood in the library, eyes tracing Fenris’ path as he compulsively paced whilst muttering a long string of Tevene under his breath. “We can find another way,” Hawke suggested.

Fenris managed to bring himself to a stop, bare toes digging into the tiled floor. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a long, steadying breath through his nose. “No,” he muttered in return, “I do not like this, but he speaks the truth. You will all be lost without his magic.”

“I’m sorry, Fenris."

“Do not apologize, Hawke, this is not your doing. I will… endure.”

“Well, I’m sorry anyway,” Hawke said, approaching him and raising his hand as if he meant to pat Fenris on the back. Instead he let it hang in the air for several awkward seconds before dropping his arm back to his side. Both men simultaneously exhaled an unconscious, wistful sigh while Aveline gave an unseen roll of her eyes.

Fenris turned his gaze downcast almost shyly, worrying at the worn red scarf tied to his right wrist before speaking again, “Thank you, Hawke. For standing by me.”

“Of course,” Hawke replied with an apologetic smile, “And once this is over there’s no way that bastard is taking you back.”

“I worry,” Aveline interjected, “He showed how easily he could release us from that spell. How do we know he’ll even cooperate?”

Fenris gave a snort, “He has no other option. Either he aids us in mending this crisis or he can walk to Ostwick to find passage back to Minrathous. He is now also short his accompanying Templar, though I doubt the southern Chantry would truly dare to move against a magister.”

“In other words, he's just as stuck with us,” Aveline remarked with a tight smirk.

Varric wandered into the library then, shaking his head with a sigh and gave his report, “Well, Bodhan gave Orana some tea and calmed her down, they're going to stay out of sight until we leave. Blondie’s still being chummy with the magister and Poppy’s out in the hall pretending not to eavesdrop.”

The other three watched him uncomprehendingly while Varric turned toward the doorway with an amused smile and waited. After a few moments Varania peered around the frame, “I'm sorry, are you referring to _me?”_ she asked sourly.

“Damn, elf, you sure brooding isn’t a sport in Tevinter? I think she’s got you beat,” Varric said, casting a look that was a bit too knowing in Fenris' direction.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Aveline as she glanced from one elf to the other and back again. “Maker’s breath, you're her aren't you,” she said.

Fenris’ brows furrowed as his mind worked, taking in the visage of the elven woman fully for the first time since they encountered her and his eyes again took on a glassy quality. He parted his lips hesitantly to begin to speak, his gaze that of one drifting between the past and present.

“Varania…?”

Fragments of memories glistened in the depths of his fractured psyche: running barefoot on the thick grass under the hot Tevinter sun, the pristine jet rock walls of a courtyard a severe contrast to the colorful flora swaying in the breeze before it. And a small red-haired girl running ahead, giggling as they played. He fought to hold onto them but like shards of glass they left abrasions on his mind

Hawke, unable to cope with not being the center of attention for so long, blurted out, “I feel like I’m missing something here,” and the sound of the mage’s booming voice pulled Fenris back to reality.

“His sister,” Aveline explained.

“I didn’t tell you,” Fenris added, his voice flat, his jaw stiff and his throat tense, “But I followed up on Hadriana’s information, Aveline was assisting me.”

“Hmm,” Varric said, “So that means…”

“You lead him here!” Fenris snapped at Varania.

Varania’s brows lowered and her lips tightened indignantly, her verdant green eyes flashing with anger as they met her brother’s matching pair. To the others she resembled Fenris so strongly at that moment it seemed absurd their relation went unnoticed. “I had no choice, Leto,” she said.

Fenris outwardly winced, the name hitting like a hot needle through his skull, the fleeting familiarity obscured by the ache it caused. Eyes squinting he asked more harshly than he intended, “What did you call me?”

“Your _name_ ," she replied, tone biting, "Even if you are too proud of a 'wolf' to use it."

Fenris’ own brows nearly disappeared beneath his fringe, his expression becoming one of complete bafflement. As he attempted to form a coherent response Aveline stepped forward and answered in his stead, "He couldn't recall his original name, that's why we all know him as Fenris."

If anyone else had spoken for him Fenris might have felt insulted, but the anger on Aveline's face was righteous as opposed to patronizing. She wasn’t just angry for his sake, or to put on airs, it was as if she stood to show this relative stranger who his family really was. He was beginning to learn that this is what it meant to have friends.

Varania, clearly put off balance, stared owlishly at the group, “Couldn’t recall? That’s absurd, he-- he wasn’t _that_ young when--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hawke interrupted, his tone inconsonantly harsh, “He’s your _brother_ , how could you?”

“I had no choice,” she said again, “Magister Danarius made me his apprentice in exchange for helping to draw Leto out. His house holds several seats in the magisterium, he has no heir and with Hadriana dead I could--”

“You sold out your own brother to become a magister!?” Fenris shouted. He advanced on her then, the brands flaring to life. With a frightened gasp she took her staff in hand, casting a wobbly barrier around herself as she was backed against the wall.

“Fenris what are you doing?” Aveline asked urgently.

“What is she to me but another mage who will do anything for power!?”, he growled as he loomed over Varania.

“You have _no idea_ what we went through, what I’ve had to do since mother died!” Varania shouted back at him, “This was my only chance!”

“And now you have no chance at all!” 

Fenris raised one glowing hand, the claws of his gauntlets clicking as he prepared to take her heart. Aveline and Varric both erupted into protests, trying to talk their friend down, Hawke’s mabari alerting to their panic and only adding to the noise. But it was Hawke that Varania looked to, pleading with him to make her brother stop. In retaliation Fenris' hand formed a fist and he punched a hole in the solid granite wall beside her head, quickly drawing her attention back to him.

“Hawke does _not_ command me,” he said.

“I don't want to command you,” Hawke said, “But I care- I'm your _friend_ , Fenris. And I think you shouldn’t kill her.”

“Why? It's not as if we need her,” Fenris spat.

“She’s still your sister, Fenris. Your family,” Hawke responded softly. That they were currently standing in Hawke’s state, a place he had worked hard to secure for a family that never had the chance to enjoy it, lent his words the sting of poignancy.

“Elf,” Varric chimed in, “Fenris… Don’t. It won’t help. Trust me.”

Fenris seemed to settle some, the light of his markings dimming as he slowly pulled his fist from the wall, small chips falling to the floor and the dust of pulverized rock billowing forth. He turned his back on Varania, pacing slowly to the other side of the room, seemingly deep in contemplation. Varania sighed with relief as she edged toward the doorway, only letting her barrier die when she was certain she had a clear path of escape.

“You put us both in this situation,” she whispered.

Fenris took a breath, clearly struggling to keep hold of the reigns on his temper, “What are you talking about?”

Varania shook her head and instead of answering fled the room, blinking back tears. Hawke, Aveline and Varric all looked to Fenris, carefully awaiting his next move. The elf at last turned toward them, his face once more the stoic mask he typically displayed to the world, “Let’s go,” he said, “We can’t stay here forever.”

When they re-entered the main room Varania was already in the foyer, seated on one of the benches and staring down at her feet. Danarius looked up casually from where he sat by the fire, a small smirk on his lips, “I was wondering what all the noise was about,” the magister said, “I see you've reacquainted with your sister, Fenris.”

Anders gave a start, staring down Fenris in righteous disbelief, “Your sister’s a mage? You bloody hypocrite, you really are just jealous!”

“ _Not_ the time, Anders,” Aveline shot back sternly. Fenris glowered in Anders direction but said nothing.

“I hope everyone’s rested up, because we’re about to willingly go back out into a demon infested shithole,” Varric said almost gleefully, unholstering Bianca as he headed into the foyer. Aveline and Fenris nodded to one another and followed him, Anders joining them soon after still appearing livid from what he had just learned.

Hawke was about to move when Danarius rose from his seat and stopped him with a touch to his arm. He pulled away and glared at the smirking old mage. “What?” Hawke asked.

“I see he wears your family heraldry,” Danarius said, “You will still tell me he does not think of you as his master?”

Hawke swallowed loudly. It was a trinket, something Fenris had asked to take one day when he saw it at the estate. It was years back, when they had first begun to mend their friendship after that night Fenris would allow neither one of them to speak of. Hawke had been charmed to see the elf wearing it, it complimented the scarf he had given Fenris as a silent acknowledgement of his affections, but now Danarius was using it to try and sow seeds of doubt in his mind. “I will tell you that, yes,” Hawke said.

“Come now, he has latched onto you in his need to serve a mage, crude as you are. But he does not belong to you.”

“He doesn’t _belong_ to you either,” Hawke hissed, attempting to keep his voice low as to not be overheard.

“Your naïveté would be charming were it not so palpable, serah Hawke,” Danarius drawled with an unimpressed sigh. He held up a hand to indicate Hawke to lead the way, earning another glare as the Champion brought them into the foyer.

With a heavy exhale Hawke drew his staff and placed his free hand on the door latch. He turned to the others, everyone else having by now put their weapons at the ready. “Here goes nothing,” he said and opened the door. The group charged in tight formation to face whatever awaited them on the streets outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reluctantly reveal you can follow me on tumblr at saiscribbles.tumblr.com. No fanfiction there, but lots of DA fanart. 
> 
> **Some notes on Anders:**  
>   
>  I'm of a mind that Anders approving of handing Fenris over to Danarius _isn't_ out of character and I sort of showed why with his little aside here. I like Anders as a character but I think he doesn't really understand slavery and that he's petty and vindictive by nature. I also think his black and white thinking on mage rights is only amplified by being merged with Justice. Though despite that he's not really one of my favorites and I probably don't like him much as a person but oh god what does it say about me that you're so easy to write and get in your head, Anders.  
>   
>  **Other notes:**    
>   
> Varania is just so freeform here. I didn't really know what to do with her in my first draft until I just said eff it and started making up her personality. She's really more of a plot device in game and I wanted to justify to myself why she doesn't fight back when Fenris goes to kill her despite being a mage and why she thinks she has any chance of being a magister. Though maybe seat inheritance in the magisterium doesn't work that way but thinking you could be a magister just by being an apprentice to one made me wibbly wobbly reason for it. It's also probably not canon that she doesn't know about Fenris' memory loss. If you can't tell I sympathize with her.
> 
> I know it's only 2 for 2 but Varric seems to go with flowers as nicknames for female elves doesn't he? 
> 
> Aveline and Fenris' friendship is often overlooked and very important to me.
> 
> The meat of the original prompt will be coming next...


	4. Chapter 4

The pride demon was still wreaking havoc nearby when the group made their valiant charge back out into Hightown, laughing triumphantly as it pummeled the decorative pillars lining the street and made a general mess of the greenery. Hawke flinging a stonefist into the side of its head drew its attention but also caught the interest of several newly formed shades. From there the Kirkwall regulars fell into their usual free-for-all battle pattern: Anders at the back casting elemental spells and healing support; Varric not far from him taking potshots both with arrows and words; Hawke closer to the fray with his force and primal attacks tearing up the ground; Aveline an immovable object knocking demons down with her shield and skewering others with her blade and Fenris throwing himself at the fight with no immediate sense of self preservation as always.

Hawke flinched as he watched Fenris take a deep gash in his arm with hardly any reaction. The elf could be unnervingly stoic, almost meditative, in battle. His fluid movements demonstrated great skill and yet were somewhat mechanical, as if the act of killing were little more than a banal chore to him. Although he dearly wished Fenris would be less cavalier about his own safety the few times Hawke had attempted to direct him in battle yielded only a sour look and a cutting remark. Fenris finally made a sound louder than his usual vaguely irate mutterings when he ignited the markings to phase his body into a state of incorporeality. As his form shimmered partially out of the physical world what seemed a battle cry tore from the elf's lips, but Hawke had long suspected it was a method of allaying pain.

Instantly the shades took an interest in Fenris, flocking toward what to them must have been a concentrated burst of the lyrium’s song. The elf failed to notice the threat, preoccupied as he was attacking the towering pride demon’s leg. Hawke called out to him in warning and Fenris turned, easily striking down two of the shades, but a third plunged its claws into him and sent a crackle of dark energy surging through his ghostly form. Fenris uttered a shocked yelp and staggered back but managed to recover quickly, narrowly avoiding the pride demon’s fist as it slammed into the ground where he had stood mere seconds before. He flickered back into solid flesh and bone, briefly doubling over in pain before tightening his grip upon his greatsword and lunging back into the thick of it.

Hawke was all but shoved aside by Danarius as the magister strode past him. “You aren’t using him properly!” the old mage scolded before turning in Fenris’ direction and shouting, “Fenris! _Subsisto!_ _Vieni!_ ”

Fenris lurched to a halt mid-swing and in a flash of lyrium light practically leapt to Danarius’ side. At Hawke’s audible gasp Fenris came back to himself, shaking his head and blinking rapidly as his mind tried to push back against years of intense conditioning.

“It seems you _do_ remember your place after all, my pet,” Danarius remarked smugly, earning a furious scowl from Fenris.

“Force of habit,” Fenris muttered, “It will not happen again.”

“I should think it must,” Danarius replied, “If you’d like your little friends to survive.”

Fenris ground his teeth together. He shifted on the balls of his feet, glancing helplessly back at Hawke for a single moment. He then turned back to Danarius and regarded the magister with a curt nod.

"You’re supposed to say 'yes, master',” Danarius gloated.

"I will not."

“Fenris,” Hawke said, knocking aside a shade and urgently approaching the pair, “You don’t have to do this.”

“It’s _fine_ , Hawke,” Fenris responded, sounding anything but fine, body coiled tight with tension, “For I will end him when this is done.”

Danarius laughed derisively, again as if Fenris were nothing more than a posturing child who had inadvertently said something amusing. “To battle, pet,” the magister declared, raising his staff at his side. Fenris frowned and crossed the staff with his sword, tapping the weapons together with a resounding clink, and the two then made their way forward in unison. There was an unmistakable rhythm to their movements but it was undisciplined, tarnished where it once must have been polished. Shortly into their joint attack Fenris faltered and earned another deep gash from a lunging demon, this time in his side.

Danarius dodged behind the elf, letting him take the brunt of another swiping claw.  He was deaf to the elf’s outraged cry as he drew blood from his wound to enthrall the attacking shade and set it upon its fellows.

"Concentrate!” The magister hissed, “Are you a common cur or are you my wolf?"

Fenris gnashed his teeth and charged into the fray with renewed vigor. Following that initial stumble their movements became nearly synchronous, falling harmoniously into place as if Fenris had been performing only one half of a well-practiced duet all along. Although he barked several short orders in Tevene more often Danarius directed Fenris with only a gesture or a subtle nod of his head. Fenris would respond to these unspoken commands within a fraction of a second giving the illusion that he could read Danarius’ thoughts. The illusion that Fenris was just an extension of his master’s will.

Though aged Danarius was frighteningly powerful and he used Fenris to make up for what he lacked in speed. The elf circled him, alight like some kind of vengeful wraith, lashing out when he was needed. At times he even phased through the magister to reach his target, each of them moving to accommodate the other with a fluid ease. Now and again Danarius would plant a hand on Fenris’ arm or back, somewhere he could directly touch the markings, and the elf would grit his teeth as the magister restored his mana by pulling energy from the lyrium. The pride demon spun in confusion, unable to track their dizzying dance.

It wasn’t long before the others found the battle slowing to a lull around them, their foes either dispatched or drawn away by the gratuitous display of magic and Fade energy that was the pair. As the remaining shades barred their path to the larger foe Fenris made his attacks in quick succession, Danarius casting short bursts of barriers before him to shield him from reprisal, and the two were able to break through quickly.

When all that remained were Danarius’ thralls the magister leaned upon his staff and crouched low, the fingers of his free hand twitching as a strong series of force spells raised the ground in concentrated surges, creating escalating steps under Fenris’ feet until he was high enough to launch himself at the pride demon. He plunged his blade through the plated shell of the beast’s chest and used his punishing momentum to knock it flat on its back, its mass shaking the ground with a thunderous noise. The sky darkened above the dazed creature and Fenris leaped from atop it just as Danarius drove a massive ice spike through its middle, keeping it pinned to the ground as it fruitlessly struggled against the rapidly encroaching frost that soon froze it solid. With the last of the demons vanquished the Hightown streets became blessedly still.

Varric’s low whistle cut through the silence and snapped Hawke out of the stupor the had fallen into while witnessing the entire spectacle. He had never seen Fenris fight like this, especially not in such effortless cooperation with spellcasting, and a small, petty part of him couldn’t help but feel slighted.

“You did well, little wolf,” Danarius purred as he approached the panting, blood-soaked elf, “I’d nearly forgotten the thrilling spark of your marks beneath my fingers.” He stretched out one hand as if he meant to pet Fenris’ hair and Fenris stepped back out of his reach with a growl in his throat and a righteous fury burning in his eyes.

“Really now, you're going to do this still?” Danarius chided.

“Maker have mercy!” Anders exclaimed, “You mean he could have been working with a mage like that all along? Might’ve come in handy!”

“Oh, I am certain he could trust no other mage to know him as I do,” Danarius said, casting a deliberately smug simper in Hawke’s direction, “As you can see, serah Hawke, he _is_ mine. I have only let him be on a long leash.”

“You do not know me,” came Fenris’ terse objection. The elf looked absolutely wretched; his head bowed, the sharp tips of his gauntlets digging into his palms, his white fringe barely covering his still scorching glare.

“Oh come now, Fenris, I've owned you since you were a child, do you really think I would not know you?” Danarius said, “Your sister remembers, don't you Varania?”

The siblings both flinched. Fenris because he’d never once been given this detail of his past, Varania because it discomfited her to be called attention to. “I do remember,” Varania said reluctantly, boldly raising her gaze to the magister, “But why doesn’t he?”

“A consequence of the ritual," Danarius explained dismissively, "Your brother knew the risks.” Varania appeared doubtful but did not inquire further.

“Fenris,” Aveline called, startling said elf out of another dissociative haze, “Let’s scout ahead.” Failing to mask the relief in his posture he gave her a grateful nod and the two moved down the road.

“Do not tarry,” Danarius called after them in a cloyingly droll tone that made Hawke want to bury his fist in the magister’s jawbone.

“You don’t own him,” Hawke rumbled instead, “This isn’t Tevinter.”

Danarius gave a put upon sigh, shaking his head, “How often will you retread this tired ground? He will return with me, he can’t keep up this game forever.”

“If you try to take him I’ll fight you!"

“Are you saying you’d duel me for him?” Danarius answered, “I’d hate to have to kill you, Champion. The tale of a barbaric Ferelden mage defeating the Arishok is quite a popular one in Minrathous.”

A procession of creaks and clacks drew their attention to Varric as he unfolded Bianca and inspected her in an overly nonchalant manner. “Well, the way I see it, magister,” the dwarf opined, wiping dust from the crossbow’s lacquered surface with the back of his glove, “You’d have more than just Hawke to deal with. We’re pretty fond of the broody elf, to us he’s a friend,” he ended pointedly, turning Bianca in his hands until she was aimed toward Danarius’ feet.

“He isn’t to me,” Anders interrupted petulantly.

“And many of his friends have _connections_ ,” Varric continued cooly, ignoring Anders, “I wouldn’t expect to get far from the city if you killed her beloved Champion, or even his lovable dwarven sidekick,” as Varric gestured to himself with one hand he flicked Bianca’s trigger, sending a bolt into the ground mere centimeters from the tip of Danarius’ boot, “Ha, sorry about that, bit of a hair trigger.”

Danarius wrinkled his nose in disgust at the threat, “I am fully aware of your _connections_ , Lord Tethras, and to be frank I am unconcerned.”

“Just something to keep in mind, magister,” Varric said, holstering Bianca with a shrug.

 

Aveline and Fenris marched side by side in silence. The air remained calm, a testament to the lack of turmoil between them. It eased Fenris’ nerves to be away from Danarius with a friend at his side; at least a friend he didn’t have complex and confusing feelings for, like Hawke, and one he could be relatively certain wasn’t mentally noting his every action for story fodder, unlike Varric. Only a few wisps drifted around them, several nestling onto Fenris’ shoulders like freshly fallen snow, likely attracted to the lyrium. He tried to ignore them lest his agitation transform the tiny spirits into something worse.

“We won’t let him have you,” Aveline said suddenly.

Fenris grimaced miserably at her conviction and she cast him a puzzled glance. “There was a group of warriors that once stood up to him for my sake,” he explained, “It did not end well for them.”

“I'm not frightened of some flouncy old prick in a skirt,” Aveline returned, earning an amused snort from Fenris.

“Nevertheless,” Fenris said, “I do not know what would become of me were you all not here. It would be… _difficult_ , to face him alone. I am grateful.”

She nodded companionably, knowing nothing more needed to be said. In time they came to a stone wall at the edge of Hightown that overlooked the city below. Lowtown could barely be glimpsed awash in the ethereal mists, but there was one area that stood out: the Alienage. More specifically its Vhenadahl. The branches of the great tree swayed lazily in the breeze, colorful leaves like a calm oasis in chaos that swirled around it.

“Well that’s curious,” Aveline said.

“For once the elves of the city enjoy protections the humans and dwarves do not,” Fenris replied dryly, dodging Aveline’s incredulous look and continuing before she could remark upon the convenient lack of patrols around his mansion, “It would seem that is our best path to the docks.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title drop! That was, in fact, one of the first lines I wrote when I was poking at this idea. 
> 
> Considering Fenris' memories of Varania, the fact that their family seemingly lived together and what's stated in World of Thedas Vol. 2 I have this idea in my head that Fenris and Varania were born into slavery. Given that WoT Vol. 2 also states that Danarius chose from among his favored slaves as candidates for the ritual he must have been aware of Leto long before he became Fenris.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite now having a clear plan of advance, leaving Hightown proved to be just as arduous as arriving. A quick pass by the Chantry found it to be sealed like a tomb; many would-be shelterers writhing on the landing before its imposing ornate doors. Whether the sounds coming from within were cries of agony or frantic prayers wasn’t easy to discern and the group agreed an investigative detour wouldn't be in their best interest. Fenris spared a thought for Sebastian, but he was certain they’d be hard pressed to convince Danarius to add another to their number.

Descending back to Lowtown they found it worse off than they had left it: the demons that had barely been present before had grown in both power and form, feeding on the misery the invasion had wrought. Shades drifted aimlessly through the streets and among them roamed a few more of the spindly terrors, growing taller and more freakish as they absorbed the fears ebbing into the ether all around them.

The creatures snapped their chitinous, eyeless heads toward the group, uttering indignant cries at the mortals that refused to be fed upon. As they shambled forth on their knobby legs a sinuous figure condensed from the shifting mists between them and stayed their advance. The new demon’s light steps barely touched the ground as it sauntered toward them, its eyes roving over each of the group before settling on Danarius as it took on a sleek but decidedly male form.

 _My, my, magister. Your desires do run deep_ , the demon purred, its voice seeming to trickle in from all around them, as if it only shaped the words on its lips for show, _You made a wolf and tried to chain it. How very foolish. You’ll require help bringing it back to heel._

Fenris practically hissed and raised his blade, but stopped mid-lunge when Danarius raised his hand. “Yes, you _will_ be rather useful,” The magister remarked. Danarius whipped his hand toward Varania, dragging a sharpened ring down her arm to open a gash, eliciting an outraged cry from his apprentice as he drew on her blood. With a flick of his wrist the spell was cast, black tendrils of magic wrapping themselves around his prey. The desire demon gave a wretched screech as it was bound, disappearing back into the ether until it was to be summoned at the magister’s whim.

Danarius spared Varania a glance, who wasn’t even trying to disguise her foul mood any longer. “You should at least be good for _something_ , my dear,” Danarius remarked with a derisive sneer.

With that the remaining demons roared in fury and made their advance. It took little more than a touch to his back for Danarius to spur Fenris into action, the two of them taking point as before. The others barely had moment to draw their weapons before the magister had Fenris carving a path through the creatures, leaving the rest of the group feeling more like ineffectual guards than comrades-in-arms. Varania hadn’t bothered to even ready her staff, hanging back and watching pale-faced as her brother impassively cleaved apart all that faced him, rending limbs with his blade and tearing viscous innards from the hard shells of their eldritch foes with his ethereal hands.

When it was done Danarius and Fenris stood among the carnage they’d created. The magister disdainfully fingered a stain on his sleeve, he had barely a drop of blood on him besides. Fenris, on the other hand, was covered nearly head to toe, the elf wiping sweat and gore from his eyes with the back of his hand as he stood struggling to catch his breath. His own use of the markings never seemed to tire him, but the addition of Danarius drawing power from them had taken its toll.

“It’s rather curious,” Danarius opined, “The lack of maintenance has altered your abilities.”

Fenris raised his head sharply at those words, his eyes widening with alarm. Without warning Danarius gestured toward him and the blood caked to his form began to fizzle away into dark energy, smoky blacks and purples drifting up from his skin. The next moment a bright flash of magic surged through the markings, the evanescent blood feeding into the spell. It lasted only a matter of seconds and by the end Fenris was clean and the markings were shimmering brilliantly. The elf had given no reaction besides a grunt and a gitting of his teeth, but when it was over the long string of Tevinter curses that tumbled from his lips suggested the pain was greater than he let on.

“Oh stop it,” Danarius chided, reaching out to flick Fenris’ ear, “I know your tongue can be put to better use.” Fenris froze, paled a shade, and then tore angrily away from the magister.

“What in the void did you do to him!?” Hawke demanded, hurrying to Fenris’ side. His hands hovered just over the elf’s shoulders, eager to help but reluctant to touch. Fenris kept his eyes averted, but appeared to be calmed by just his proximity to the Champion.

“Stabilized the markings,” Danarius replied, fussing again at the blood stain on his extravagant robes, “He should be grateful, I suspect much of this ornery disposition he's developed to be the effect of mild lyrium poisoning. I’ll have to do a proper check once we return to Minrathous.”

“You yet labor under the delusion that I will return with you,” Fenris ground out. The elf wrinkled his nose with irritation as he gazed down at his hands, flexing fingers which were not nearly as stiff as before. He was loath to admit that whatever Danarius did _had_ helped.

“You’ve become most incorrigible, pet. It’s almost charming.”

“Let’s keep moving,” Hawke snapped. The magister’s cadence had grown beyond irksome, the very idea that Fenris lived with such condescension for years on end had Hawke livid. He felt a twist in his stomach at the realization that Fenris could not have known anything else until he was left behind on Seheron.

Aveline, Varric and Hawke gravitated toward Fenris almost unconsciously as the group continued on, flanking the warrior and creating a buffer between he and his former master. Anders found himself hanging back with Danarius and Varania, the latter of whom was staring resolutely at her feet, mouth pulled into a grimace. Justice was practically a whirlwind inside his mind: witnessing one mage inarguably oppressing another had upset the balance of their collective creed. It was something Anders on his own may have been able to reconcile but to the limited focus of a spirit it was far too nuanced; the cognitive dissonance began clouding his thoughts and giving him a headache.

“So you’re not a blood mage yourself?” Anders asked Varania in an effort to distract himself.

“She’ll get there. Maker knows she could stand to compensate for the lack of aptitude,” Danarius answered for her, “Not that we practice blood magic in the Imperium, of course,” he added with a wry smirk.

“You seem to use it rather... liberally,” Anders remarked, bitterly recalling all the times he’d argued with Fenris about whether _every_ magister in Tevinter was a blood mage.

“ _Power_ is important,” Danarius responded, his cold grey eyes drifting to Fenris’ back as he spoke, “Amassing power requires skill and demonstrating power requires intellect.”

Fenris stiffened, a shudder he appeared unaware of quaking through his muscles. Aveline and Hawke shared another worried glance, each ill-equipped to ease the tension of the situation with anything other than force or obnoxious wordplay respectively. Varric suddenly cleared his throat and began with loud, if somewhat forced, jocularity, “Did I ever tell you about the time…”

 

  
The dwarf nattered on with a tale of his youthful exploits, that was most certainly a complete fabrication, only stopping when they at last entered the Alienage. The mists dissipated there to the point that everything almost appeared to be normal. The central courtyard was deserted, save for a single solid figure beneath the Vhenandahl. It was Merrill, sat cross-legged upon the ground, sipping tea and apparently holding court with the plethora of garbled Fade beings surrounding her.

“And so when you come into this world you find it terribly confusing?” She was asking an enormous shadowy shape to her left. Orange starbursts erupted within the phantom's form as it uttered a series of freakishly inhuman vocalizations that might have been a response.

"Oh yes," Merrill agreed with a few sage nods of her head, "I can see how that would be troubling."

The group could only stand agape in disbelief at the surreal scene. Even Danarius appeared put off-balance for the first time since he had joined them; furrowing his brows and blinking sluggishly as his brain struggled to catch up with his eyes. Spirits weren’t an unusual sight in Tevinter, but a petite Dalish elf taking tea with some definitely would have been.

“Merrill,” Aveline began in a steady, if exasperated, tone, “What are you doing?”

The little mage perked up and swiveled toward them with a bright smile on her face, “Oh hello, Aveline!” she called in a sing-song lilt, “Oh and Hawke as well. And Fenris, Anders and Varric! I don’t think we’ve met,” she finished with a frown as he leaned to the side to get a better look at Danarius and Varania.

“Are you the cause of this, witch!?” Fenris shouted.

“Don’t be silly, Fenris, they’re coming from inside the Gallows. Why would I go there?” Merrill responded, unfazed by his barking.

Whatever Fenris was going to say next trailed off into inarticulate sputtering and half-words so Varric next took the reigns of the conversation, “So. Daisy. Could any of your new friends shed some light on what exactly is going on?” he asked.

“I can tell you that! The Veil is already thin in Kirkwall. It’s got holes poked in it a bit like a moth-eaten cloth, so even normally the Fade sort of _leaks_ through?” Merrill paused and tapped a contemplative finger against her lips, “Oh, but water soaks through cloth even when it doesn't have holes, that can cause a leak too. Maybe it’s more like gas? That mist looks a bit like gas. Anyway, someone in the Gallows tore a great big hole in the Veil and all these poor spirits just tumbled out. It was very frightening for them all so they’re a bit upset.”

“A bit upset,” Aveline echoed, massaging her temple.

“And you got all that by... _talking_ to them?” Hawke asked.

“Yes!” Merrill replied, taking a sip of her tea, “Many spirits are nice if you just listen.”

“Such as the demon that taught you blood magic?” Fenris grumbled.

“You seem to be working just fine with a blood mage at present,” Anders sniped at him.

“Now is _not_ the time for an argument, you two,” Aveline said, “We’ve got to go fix this problem now that we know where it’s coming from.”

“We could use your help, Merill,” Hawke added.

“Do we _really_?” Anders balked.

Merrill just shook her head. “I can’t do that,” she said, glancing off to the houses behind her. A few elven eyes could be seen from the windows, faintly reflecting the light from outside. The residents of the Alienage were huddled in their homes under the protection of whatever magic, or spiritual diplomacy, Merrill had weaved. “The elves here need me, if I leave they’ll all be overtaken by the spirits.”

“Understood,” Aveline said with a stern nod, “You keep doing… whatever it is you’re doing. We’ll try to have this all sorted soon.”

Merrill, and several of the spirits, cheerily waved them farewell as they plunged back into the mists and toward the docks. “I may be back for that one,” Danarius murmured to himself, unheeding of the sharp glares both Anders and Varania directed at his back.

Navigating a path to the docks became a trial due to the throngs of people strewn about the streets and even the side alleys. Many were writhing under the press of spiritual energy but some were still, having been trampled underfoot in the mad dash to escape the initial swell of Fade-tinged mist. Where the others carefully picked around these unfortunates Danarius began callously sweeping them out of his path with magic as if they were nothing more than garbage. This earned him a particularly sour look from Varric that failed to have any effect on the magister.

At last they reached the water’s edge and managed to bring an intact ferry to shore with great tugs of the rope to wrest it from the grip of a few poor souls who clearly drowned when the spirits’ assault overtook them. Danarius made his displeasure at boarding the rickety old thing known but by then the group was too exhausted to even acknowledge him with disdain.

Fenris moved to the front of the ferry and stood beside Hawke. It was as far away as he could get from Danarius to the point his toes were gripping the edge over the water. Varania sidled closer to her brother but didn't dare to even look at him. With a lurch the craft moved through water, the reflection of the mists giving it a look like opaque glass. They drifted along the surface unaware of what could be lurking in the Gallows ahead or the depths below.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • As soon as the image of Merrill having a tea party with the spirits popped into my head I knew I had to work it into the story. We needed a bit of comic relief anyway right? 
> 
> • I seriously considered putting Sebastian in the story but I have too many characters to keep track of as it is. If you'd like to read some FenHawke where Sebastian is a bro check out my fics [The Time Between](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4379558/chapters/10562982) and [Three and Six.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5926621)
> 
> • [I said on my tumblr](http://saiscribbles.tumblr.com/post/148179596234/hawke-caught-fenris-under-his-arms-to-prevent-him) (on an illustration for this fic incidentally) that this one is a bit hard to write because the plot solely exists in service of the premise. Which may not _sound_ bad, but what it means is the idea for the plot only came about to justify the premise even being believable by my own nitpicky standards, so it's a bit inorganic as far as writing goes and it's hard not to make things too meandering. 
> 
> But I do intend to finish it and plenty of people have enjoyed the story so I must disguise it well ;-P


	6. Chapter 6

_The struggle is futile. Giving in would be easier, so much simpler…_

Fenris’ brows pinched toward the bridge of his nose. The voice in his mind sounded so much like his own, and yet, it was not. He found it difficult to think. The mists thickened and he was suddenly aware it was only he and Danarius on the ferry. The others had been there as well, hadn’t they?

The magister was silent, staring at Fenris from where he sat, a predatory look in his eyes and an unkind smile on his lips. He knew how this would end. They both did. 

_...He’ll tell you to kill them and you will. Just like the Fog Warriors. You’ll kill Hawke…_

No. He had stood up to Danarius so far. Having Hawke at his side had bolstered his courage; this even in spite of Fenris being too great a coward to tell Hawke how much he meant to him. And he _was_ a coward wasn't he? How long could his bravado last, especially when his former master could incapacitate Hawke and the rest with merely a thought.

_...It’s better for everyone if you just give in now. Better for you. You don’t know how not to be led, the leash only changes hands..._

His toes curled against the splintering wood of the ferry, he felt his body pitch forward toward the glassy surface of the water. He didn’t resist, what was the point? He would just become a slave again, perhaps that's all he ever was…

A gauntleted hand dug into Fenris’ bicep and he was pulled tight against armored plate. A blade struck out above his shoulder, driving dead between the eyes of the sloth demon that had risen from the inky depths to snare him. The creature slithered backwards across the surf seemingly more perplexed by than in pain from the sword embedded in its newly formed skull. Apparently deciding that existence was too great a bother the demon dissipated back into the mist, leaving the sword to plunge into the sea.

“Flames!” Aveline exclaimed as her weapon swiftly sank from view. Fenris snapped out of his trance and she loosened her grip to hold him out at arm’s length, inspecting him.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

Danarius had risen to his feet with just barely disguised alarm in his eyes, “That was careless, little wolf,” he said, playing it off nonchalantly, “It is a wonder that you have lasted this long on your own.”

“Shut it you spiteful old codger,” Aveline snapped.

“You are the least valuable person to me on this vessel,” Danarius replied cooly, “Do not disrespect me again lest you wish to join your blade on the seafloor.”

“I’ll not stand by and let you disrespect my _friend_ ,” Aveline returned.

“Who happens to be _my_ property, so it appears we are at an impasse.”

“Aveline,” Fenris interrupted quietly.

“Oh sod it all, he’s not even worth it.”  
  


The rest of the ride was made in tense, thankfully demon-free, silence. Varric kept Bianca armed after the encounter, scanning the surface of the water and trying not to appear as jumpy as he clearly felt. Hawke was anxiously hovering around Fenris once more, torn between a desire to comfort and his dedication to respecting the elf’s space. Fenris could practically feel the look Danarius was giving them. It was impossible that Danarius hadn't noticed their connection and it was only a matter of time before the magister would wield it against him.

They disembarked in the Gallows courtyard only to be met with a miniature war. Several Templars were still on their feet desperately fighting off the twisted creatures surrounding them. They were all driven to the brink of exhaustion from a need to cast a cleanse every few minutes  just to keep their minds clear. Demons had invaded several fallen mages and raised them back up as abominations, adding an extraneous bit of chaos to the already panicked fray.

Cullen was among a sparse group of his soldiers, red-faced, sweating and only just able to remain upright. His head snapped toward the group as they approached, his eyes warily roving over both the overt and barely disguised staves more than half of them carried. With a long-suffering look he gestured at them to come aid in the fight.

This time the entire group got a stab at the battle. Varric was sticking close to Varania now: she seemed to have inspired his protective side. Aveline used her shield to defend while Anders attacked around her, though she wasn’t above throwing a punch now and then. Fenris was plainly dismayed to choose between Hawke and Danarius, but he reluctantly went to the magister’s side in the fight. Danarius directed another of his insufferably smug smiles in Hawke’s direction, which did nothing but spark the obstinate spirit of rebellion that he most certainly inherited from his father.

When Hawke slipped into the flow of battle at his vacant side Fenris gave him a startled glance. Although a challenge at first Hawke managed to match the pair’s rhythm, even avoiding the end of Danarius’ staff with some quick footwork when the magister attempted to trip him up. Danarius, while suspicious, grudgingly allowed Hawke to integrate himself into their attack formation. It wasn’t until Hawke deftly put a demon between Danarius and Fenris and swept back to the elf’s side that the Danarius, all too late, caught on to what he was up to.

“May I have this dance?” Hawke quipped along with what he hoped was a charming grin. He expected at least an eyeroll from Fenris, but the elf merely grunted and kept his focus.

Hawke’s fighting style was different from Danarius’, lacking in both refinement and finesse, but Fenris had grown familiar with it during the past seven years. And whatever else he knew he trusted the man implicitly; it was a simple thing to fall into step with Hawke.

As for Hawke he was elated to be fighting at Fenris’ side in complete harmony. He could feel the thrum of the marks with each spell, the power arching through the air between them flowing back through his own body creating almost boundless energy. Why had they never done this before? With a flourish Hawke felled the last demon and turned to Fenris with his arms held high and an exhilarated smile on his face. But Fenris was starting resolutely at his feet; he looked almost ashamed.

“Don’t do that again,” Fenris said, just barely above a whisper. Hawke’s smile faltered and he lowered his arms to his sides. Just as he was about to speak Fenris cut him off, “I do not wish to feel you are fighting over me with him.”

“I didn’t mean--” Hawke stammered, horrified.

“I know.” Fenris’ response was terse. He turned away, his head still hung low, and guilt bloomed in Hawke’s chest.

“Serah Hawke. I see you've added a blood mage to your repertoire,” Cullen remarked as he approached the group. Hawke nodded dumbly in response to the welcome distraction, glad Merrill’s status had gone miraculously unnoticed over the years. Taking Cullen's cue the remaining Templars flanking him turned their blades toward Danarius, who only curled his lip contemptuously.

“Now see here. I am a Magister of the Tevinter Imperium,” Danarius scoffed, “I have diplomatic immunity to your petty Southern laws.”

“Not for blood magic you don’t,” Cullen replied, gesturing with his blade, “Where is your Templar escort?”

“Have you _seen_ this madness, little man? What do you _think_ has become of it?”

Without further argument Cullen raised his free hand and a flash of white light erupted from his fingers. Anders and Hawke, recognizing what it was, quickly scrambled away. Danarius, however, had clearly never been on the receiving end of a silencing before. He nearly doubled over with the shock, suddenly no longer an imposing figure of mage superiority and more the image of a feeble old man.

“Fenris! Kill this fool!” Danarius ground out through his teeth.

“No.”

“ _Fenris_!”

Fenris ignored him, trying and largely failing to contain his satisfied smirk. It was a small victory, but it was enough to allay his fears. Unfortunately, the others were not faring well with Danarius’ magic fading from them.

“Really though, Knight-Captain, you should probably stop that,” Hawke chimed in rather woozily, “His spell’s the only thing keeping us all standing.” With a beleaguered sigh Cullen ceased blocking Danarius’ magic, much to everyone’s relief.

“Whenever there’s trouble you never seem far behind, Hawke,” Cullen said.

“I prevent _at least_ half as much trouble as I cause,” Hawke responded cheerfully.

One of the other Templars, who until this point had been repeatedly casting cleanses, pitched to the side and fainted dead away in the street.

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed, “This is worse than Kinloch!”

“Wonderful!” Anders cried, “Will they call for the Right of Annulment here as well?”

Cullen went still for a moment, his expression pensive as he replied, “They may. But I believe those mages from Starkhaven we recovered some years back are behind this.”

“Ah. The ones you wished to help escape,” Fenris said to Anders.

“And look where the Circle got them!” Anders returned with an emphatic gesture at the seemingly endless stream of ethereal beings erupting from the tower, “If they were free they wouldn’t feel the need to do this!”

“Maybe not the _best_ argument to have in front of the Knight-Captain,” Varric added through a strained smile.

Fortunately, though unfortunately for him, Cullen didn’t appear to hear them as he was slowly sinking to his knees, succumbing to the spiritual onslaught. The remaining Templars he had been leading fared no better.

“Leave them,” Aveline said, “We don't have time.”

 

They hurried through the courtyard toward the main entrance of the tower. Varania eyed the many salt rusted gates with trepidation, as if they could snap shut at any moment. Anders in the meantime was fighting back sparks of blue along his skin. They would have been conspicuous enough for your average Templar but, luckily, most of the Order were on the ground.

Unluckily, Meredith and Orsino were both in the Templar Hall, each standing outside the doors to their respective offices and shouting at the other across the main walkway.

“Oh you cannot be serious,” Hawke muttered.

“Your demands for coddling have lead to this!” Meredith said as she spun on her heel, decapitating several shades with the strange red sword she had acquired recently.

“Coddling!” An outraged Orsino called back as he engulfed a Despair demon that had been flying around him like a housefly in flames, “If you would treat your charges with some basic _decency_ they would not fall to desperation!”

“All blood magic must be purged from this tower! That is top priority!” Meredith returned, skewering a desire demon and pinning it to the wall just as it formed.

“I don’t have the energy for this today,” Hawke whined, turning to the group, “Just follow me and try not to make eye contact.”

Hawke practically charged down the thoroughfare with his head lowered as if that would prevent him from being noticed. Of course with a sizable group at his heels they were spotted immediately, both the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander whirling toward them and faultlessly zeroing in on the Champion.

“Good afternoon I’ve come to fix everything as usual complain to me later!” Hawke shouted rapidly as he hurried past them, ignoring it as they both angrily cried out “HAWKE!” in his wake.

Entering the main foyer of the Circle’s towering central spire they were met with the most bizarre sight. Typically one could only feel it when the Veil was thin in a given place but what was hanging in the air before them resembled a tear in reality. It was tinged with an unworldly green glow, the ethereal mists poured out of it like smoke and every now and again it would swell with a thunderous noise expelling several more demons into the world.

Lying on the floor nearby in a pool of his own blood was Ser Thrask; he and several others had apparently been gutted for the blood magic that instigated all this. Among the corpses was Ser Karras, Alain stood over him with a bloodied knife in his hand and a haunted look in his eyes. The lad startled and dropped the knife as the group rushed toward the scene.

Beyond the tangible tear in the Veil was Grace looking half-mad with the dark power crackling all around her. She threw her head back in a crazed laugh like a storybook villain when she saw them.

“You’re too late, Champion!” She spat, “All of Kirkwall will be brought to its knees by my power!”

“Seems like it’s every other week with this,” Varric mumbled.

“They lock mages away because they fear us! They fear we’ll take our rightful place above them as more powerful beings!” Grace continued in her speech as if the dwarf hadn’t spoken, “But we can create a second Tevinter where we can be the rightful rulers, starting here!”

“How very quaint,” Danarius jeered.

“And I will even pull my beloved back from the Void, you shall see!” Grace concluded in her mad rant.

Hawke knew not every mage could handle being an apostate. Anders had been livid when he handed Grace and her companions over to the Templars, and now it wouldn’t even be satisfying to say ‘I told you so’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I am taking every opportunity to make Hawke as purple as possible in this fic as due to the nature of my past ones he always came out more blue than I actually play him. 
> 
> \- Cullen was a last minute cameo but I knew from early on I had to have a scene of Meredith and Orsino blaming each other for everything while Hawke tries to avoid them. 
> 
> \- Since I created this whole demon scenario as an excuse to make the prompt happen I then had to figure out how it was caused. Damnit. I like to avoid OCs as much as possible in fanfics (just a personal preference, I mean you're all here for characters you already know) so I finally landed on Grace and pals. And if you noticed a few subtle details regarding them that means you've played Dragon Age 2 as many times as I have and that's sad go outside.


End file.
